


A Disagreement With God

by SaintEpithet



Series: Sons of Fire - Beric & Thoros Oneshots [5]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, One Shot, S03E07 The Bear and the Maiden Fair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:04:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12010440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintEpithet/pseuds/SaintEpithet
Summary: Losing a smith wasn't what bothered Beric the most. It was selling him like a slave.





	A Disagreement With God

The bag of gold weighed heavy in Beric's hand, but not as heavy as his heart. The Red Woman was gone and with her the boy. 'Because the Red God needed him.' As if the Brotherhood hadn't needed more men, hadn't needed a smith. Gendry was a smith, Gendry wanted to join them. It was a good fit, wasn't it? But the Lord of Light had decided the Red Woman needed him more and he didn't give Beric a reason. The gold he had received instead of the smith would buy new armor and weapons, yes. And it would be faster and easier than having the lad repair what they had. But that would have come at a lower cost, in coin and in coinscience.

Losing a _smith_ wasn't what bothered Beric the most. It was _selling_ him like a slave. Had Gendry decided to walk away, Beric could have shrugged it off. He wouldn't have been the first to be eager to join the Brotherhood and then realize that life as an outlaw wasn't for him, after all. Beric wouldn't have made him stay. He would have let him go to find a better life somewhere out there. And Beric would have defended that better life, the little happiness the small folk had left in times of war. No hard feelings. But that was not what had happened. A foreign priestess from Asshai had bought Gendry, for cold, hard coins.

Beric hadn't liked it, not one bit. But he went along with it. Thoros insisted. Thoros said it was the will of the Lord, that he had a plan for the boy and that the Brotherhood couldn't deny him what he needed. And that they needed the gold to keep fighting, that it would help to protect more than one lad they barely knew. Beric admitted he had a point, but he didn't think it was a very good one. Gold bought weapons, and they needed weapons. Gold didn't buy a boy who seemed to have his heart in the right place. Gold just sold him.

 

The sky outside was fading from the pale blue of the afternoon into the orange shades of dusk and Beric sat alone in the cave by the fire. His hands held the bag, felt the weight of the coins, but his thoughts were far removed from weapons and armor. He stared into the fire, lost in thought, searching for answers and found none. The men were outside, trying out the few weapons Gendry had patched up and Beric didn't mind. Right now, he wanted to be alone with his god. But the flames were just flames; the Red God saw no need to explain himself.

 

Heavy, stumbling steps behind him, from the entrance of the cave, told Beric that he wouldn't get his wish for solitude. He didn't have to turn around to know who was coming. Thoros knew Beric didn't like what had happened and Thoros didn't like to see Beric brood alone. A moment later, he felt his priest behind him. Thoros half kneeled on the log Beric was sitting on, half slouched against his back.

"What troubles you, my lord?" he asked, resting his chin on Beric's shoulder. Beric didn't move. Not to dismiss Thoros, but because he feared his priest might fall over, face first into the fireplace, if he withdrew.

"You know what troubles me," Beric gave back.

Thoros' arm crept over his shoulder, holding a flask of wine, but Beric declined.

"The lad will be fine," Thoros said. "Don't bother your once pretty head about it." He tried to bring the flask to his lips, around Beric's head, and just barely succeeded. Beric took the bottle away; Thoros' arm was blocking his view on the fire that still owed him an answer. Thoros didn't seem to care and slung both arms around Beric, for his friend's comfort and for his own support.

"Did the Lord of Light tell you that?" Beric asked, not taking his gaze from the flames. He felt Thoros shrug and shake his head. "Then how can you know what his plans are for the boy? We sold him like an old horse, without being given a reason. That isn't right. That isn't who we are."

One arm remained around Beric's shoulder; Thoros was hanging on him like a wet sack of rocks, the other hand reached for the flask and Beric let him have it. Thoros drank and took his time to reply.

"I was sold to a temple," he said when he put the wine down. "And I turned out just fine."

Beric had no good answer to that. Thoros had done well for himself in Westeros, but it sure wasn't the result of being sold to a temple as a boy. Despite it, maybe.

"And stop calling him a 'boy'. He's not a boy anymore," Thoros added. His hand wandered from Beric's shoulder up to his head, to briefly ruffle his hair, then it slid down to rest on the shoulder again. "He's not much younger than you were when a red priest showed up for you."

Now Beric slightly turned his head to look at Thoros. He still had no answer, but his priest, drunk has he was, had made a better point.

"Turned out just fine for you, too, didn't it?" Thoros asked.

Beric nodded, now with the hint of a smile on his lips. He leaned his head against Thoros', taking his eye off the flames. "Aye," he quietly replied. "Maybe you're right. I wouldn't have it any other way."

 


End file.
